Margate, 1926

Living in Margate had always been your dream since you found your deep rooted love of the beach and sea, granted there were few days in English summer to actually enjoy your surroundings though you made the most of what little sunshine you got.

While walking your dog on the beach you'd often run into a big friendly mastiff, brown and wrinkled, though seemingly ahead of or trailing behind his master, whom you'd not met yet.

When Alfie saw Cyril being friendly with your little dog, which he'd honestly mistaken for a ball of cotton fluff, he hung back, turning on his heel to avoid you, not from malice or distaste towards you, but being near you did odd things to the retired gangster, things someone like you oughtn't be doing to a battered old bastard like him.

He'd watch from a distance as you played with Cyril in a mood of gay abandon, merrily skipping and running with both dogs in tow, not a care in the world, he wondered if you were like that all the time, cheery and smiley and just.. happy.

Sure Alfie was comfortable living in Margate, but he wasn't sure if he was happy, truly speaking. Often he wondered if the addition of a friend in you would change anything.

One afternoon, he decided to be brave and not turn around when he saw you walking your dog towards him, both your dog and Cyril on their leashes, attached at the wrist to yourself and Alfie.

Upon seeing his playmate, Cyril made a beeline for your dog, who in turn also began pulling and tugging at her collar, both dogs pulling for one another.

This resulted in you and Alfie becoming entwined by your own dogs leashes as they herded around you both, tying you tight together, one wrong step would lead you tumbling into the shallow waves that lapped at the sandy beach. Chagrined, Alfie looked down at you, pressed to his chest by no volition of your own.

"Afternoon," he grumbled, his tone inflected at Cyril's behaviour.